


Le Désir de Coeur

by lovesrogue36



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: F/F, French-speaking Character, Infidelity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-09
Updated: 2012-11-09
Packaged: 2017-11-18 07:06:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrogue36/pseuds/lovesrogue36
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vague spoilers for The Hour of Death. Renard turns up at Juliette's door again but this time, he isn't about to go away empty-handed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Désir de Coeur

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Grimm nor am I associated with David Greenwalt, Sasha Roiz or Bitsie Tulloch.

It occurred to Renard that this must have been how Hank felt after eating Adalind’s poisoned cookies, the poor sap. He tucked the unlit cigarette that had been dangling from his fingers for the better part of an hour back in a silver case and tossed it in the glove compartment (he hadn’t smoked in years but it was reassuring to know they were right _there_.) Throwing open the car door, he stalked towards the house, hands in his pockets, his logical, police captain side screaming at him that this was the worst idea he’d had since Vienna.

Three sharp knocks on the door brought Juliette from the kitchen, though as they made eye contact through the window she looked admittedly less than thrilled to see him. She swung the door open reluctantly, her eyes dropping to the ground and one hand planted firmly on her hip. “You shouldn’t be here,” she muttered under her breath.

His eyes followed the graceful motion of her hand brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He stared, actually, for a bit too long, to the point she cleared her throat, one eyebrow arched to complete the rather uncomfortable look on her face. “Nick’s not here,” she elaborated, as if either of them believed he had come to check on Nick.

“He’s on a stakeout with Hank. I know.” Renard stepped into the house, into her space. “Convenient, really. He’ll be out all night.”

It might have sounded like a threat to another woman, (a sane woman, Juliette thought disdainfully), but her heart was pounding too loudly in her ears to hear much more than the gentle rise and fall of his voice, an accent buried in there somewhere. “Captain Renard.” She placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back ineffectually. “You shouldn’t _be_ here.”

“No, I really shouldn’t,” he agreed in that soft, quiet way he had of completely destroying her defenses, his hands coming up to frame her face and his lips finding hers insistently, the demand in stark contrast to the gentle tone of his voice.

Juliette resisted, putting mere inches of breathing room between them, her fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt. “No, no we can’t-” she pleaded, more with her conscience than with him, shaking her head fiercely. “We can’t do this to Nick.”

Kicking the door shut behind him, he pushed her up against the stairwell, hands trapping her against the wood. “Nick loves you. But tell me you haven’t dreamt of this. Tell me you haven’t seen me when you’ve kissed Nick and I will leave you alone forever,” he murmured, lips a breath away from hers.

Juliette felt the color drain out of her face, her eyes widening, her lips parting around a disbelieving gasp. “ _How_ … How could you possibly know that?”

He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a rough, desperate kiss she was hard pressed not to return. “I can’t get you out of my head,” he whispered against her skin as though it were physically painful for him to admit, fingers tangling in long red curls. “You’re everywhere.”

It was wrong, so wrong, but she moaned at the press of his fingers on her breast and sank onto his thigh as he pushed his knee between her legs. Juliette shook her head, hand clenching in his shirt, nails biting into his shoulder in an apathetic protest.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” Renard challenged, voice low as he painted the words along the neck of her blouse, lips just brushing the swell of her breast.

“I want this.” Her voice was a pained whisper, head tipping back against the wooden slats, her throat slim and pale and invitingly sensual. “We can’t… How can I possibly want you so much?”

Renard lifted his head abruptly, the hard lines of his body evident against her inviting curves even through the heavy layers of his suit, hand gracefully curving around her cheek. “It’s not a want,” he murmured, lips warm and tempting on hers, “It’s a need, a _désir._ It’s not ours to control. Oh Juliette, je veux faire l'amour avec vous.”

She flushed at the way he whispered flawless French against her mouth, tongue sweeping along hers without permission or apology. “But Nick-”

He faltered, it’s true. To sleep with Juliette was to betray his Grimm and possibly dash all his hard work but- He spoke the truth. Their desire was not theirs to control. So rather than an elaborate excuse, he took her by the hand and led her up the stairs toward what he shouldn’t have known was the bedroom.

Juliette allowed him to guide her as far as the door but before his hand had closed around the knob she tightened her fingers in his, pausing their reckless descent if only for a moment. “This isn’t just…” she hesitated, searching for the right word. “- _lust_ , is it? It’s something else.”

Swallowing thickly and silently hoping she didn’t come entirely to her senses, he lifted their joined hands to his lips. “No.” There really was no point in lying to her, not when she was caught in the same treacherous web that had cost him his sanity these past few weeks.

“It’s… something someone did to us.” Her tone made it very clear that she thought she was losing her mind and meanwhile insinuated that if he confirmed her suspicions he was perhaps just as mad as she was.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.” Perhaps it was a good thing; perhaps they could then plead insanity for their mutually destructive attraction.

Juliette pulled her bottom lip in between her teeth, mulling over the ridiculous answer to a ridiculous question that would have sounded like such a pathetic excuse if it weren’t completely true. He all but held his breath, studying her face intently until, finally, she raised her eyes to his. Renard opened his mouth to argue the virtues of a secret affair but, really, she didn’t need convincing, not after the weeks of tiptoeing around Nick and pretending she wasn’t attracted to his handsome, mysterious boss.

She brought her hands up to his face, pushing onto her toes so she could press an inviting, open-mouthed kiss to his lips and soft curves to his frame. “I _want_ this,” she whispered, eyelashes splayed on snowy cheekbones as though she were afraid to look too deeply into his eyes.

Renard wavered, some small bit of logic in him still insisting this, all of this, was a terrible plan. But even as he lost an internal argument, he found himself sliding a hand possessively around the back of her neck, found himself stumbling backward into the bedroom, her small hands pushing and tugging on his jacket.

The heavy fabric hit the floor, followed shortly by shoes and Juliette’s blouse, the silky fabric catching on his fingers on its trek to the ground. He stumbled slightly upon reaching the bed, sinking onto it, his arms full of soft, creamy skin even as a flash of memory of a foggy window and a stolen glimpse of her bathing filled his head, the bathroom door propped open over her shoulder.

“What?” Juliette mumbled into his throat, fingers tugging his tie loose and flicking open his starched collar, her free hand sliding down his side as she planted a knee on the bed beside him.

Her body arched above him as he pressed the heel of his hand into her lower back, fresh-bitten lips parting around a gasp. “Nothing,” he murmured, attention returning to the woman in his arms rather than the fantasy in his memories.

Juliette slid her fingers into his shirt, buttons popping open one by one, the tension nearly killing him if it weren’t for the distraction of her falling bra strap, the almost-innocent exposure of her hip just above black slacks. He stroked his thumb over the tender skin there, earning himself a shudder of desire and expectation, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

There was a haze of guilty quiet while they stripped each other of layers of clothing that gave way to a languid sort of kiss that implied ignored-emotions and the inner workings of a spellbound pair of lovers. Juliette pressed a hand to his bare chest, gently shoving him flat onto the bed, only to follow him down with her knees on either side of him and her hair brushing his cheek. “Tell me what did this,” she murmured, lips closing over his earlobe.

Renard groaned, palms worshiping the creamy skin of her back, the tender flesh of her thigh. “Magic. A spell.”

“You kissed me…” Juliette was momentarily distracted by a demonstration, her tongue hot on his and tasting of cinnamon and coffee. “And I woke up. Like…”

“Like Sleeping Beauty.” Renard quirked an ironic smile, light dancing in blue eyes darkened by lust and magic. “And believe me, you were a sleeping _beauty_. It was all I could do to kiss you just the once.” He curled a hand around the back of her neck, sealing his lips hard against hers until she was panting and gasping, fingers nimbly, if blindly, reaching for the button of his pants.

“How? How does it work?” she demanded between gulps of air and indecent moans.

“Honestly? I’m not entirely certain.” Renard tucked a hand behind her knee and rolled her beneath him, kicking off his trousers as he went. “But it brought me to this moment and if I’m mad, so be it, because all I can think about is being inside you.” His voice dropped gradually until he whispered the last over her pulse point, felt the blood rush beneath her skin at the suggestion even as he lay between her pale, open thighs.

Juliette wound one arm around his shoulders, her teeth nipping earnestly at his bottom lip enough of a confirmation that yes, she did indeed want this and no, she did not care if they had both lost their minds. Just in case he hadn’t received the message, however, she ran her fingertips down between them, stroking encouragingly over his warm, sensitive skin.

Renard shuddered, short trimmed nails biting lightly into her thigh as he pushed inside her, tongue swiping at hers in retaliation. Moaning against his mouth, she curled her free hand up over hard, defined muscles she had only ever caught a glimpse of beneath professional jackets and carefully knotted ties.

He moved inside her infinitesimally, smirking at the tense tremble she rewarded him with, her body hot and tight around him and her lips parted breathlessly beneath his. Her hips pressed up against him, inviting a rougher rhythm, an invitation he had little power to refuse. The bed springs creaked beneath their movements and though he longed to taste every inch of her enticing curves, he turned his face from her as she pushed him closer to the edge. Though logically he knew she couldn’t see so much as a glimmer of his hexenbiest face, the raw emotion forced the rather hideous visage to the surface in an uncontrollable woge he couldn’t help but want to keep hidden from her in every way possible.

But Juliette only twined her fingers in his dark hair, oblivious to his turmoil as beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Burying a moan in his shoulder, she rolled him over much as he had done and dragged herself up, red hair tangling around her face. If it weren’t for the desperate way she thrust her hips against him, he’d have thought she looked charmingly unkempt but as it was, she was the realization of every fantasy that had plagued him for weeks.

“Oh, oh, _oh_ …” Juliette silenced her cries with a knuckle between her teeth, eyes screwed shut until that heady moment when his thumb stretched from its place on her thigh to the slick, hot skin between her legs, sending her into bliss. Renard thrust once, hard and sharp, pushing her down beside him, a whispered “ _Mon Dieu_ ” accompanying the action. He jerked away from her, hands tight on his arms as he came, relief and desire passing over his face.

Juliette gasped and panted into his shoulder, strong arms wrapping around her more delicate frame as he recovered. She reached for the blanket at the end of the bed, the soft fabric wrapping around both their bodies making the moment all the more intimate. “This can’t have happened,” she whispered, even as his mouth covered hers, tongues entwining helplessly.

His breathing labored against her lips and he turned his head, pressing the lightest of sensual kisses over her eyelids. “I have to have you, Juliette, over and over. You have no idea how many ways I want you,” he murmured.

“I do,” she countered, voice filled with a vulnerable defenselessness he recognized from the tumult of his own internal arguments. “I want you inside me always.” Renard lifted a hand, brushing a few messy strands of hair from her face until she reluctantly raised her eyes to meet his. “Is it truly more than infatuation? Is there truly nothing we can do?”

The question gave him pause, if only briefly, to consider the truth, that if they entrusted their secret to Nick’s blutbad friend or the fuchsbau girl that this exquisite misery could end. But obsession goes beyond the needs of the body and in the end the lie came out all too easily: “No, nothing. Fighting it appears to be a bit futile even. A curse, my dear.” He murmured the words against her skin, just in front of her ear, like a deep secret she must always keep in her heart.

“No, not a curse. This is magic of your own making.” Juliette untangled herself from his grip with a sigh, gathered her clothes into the hamper and made her way into the bathroom without so much as a glance tossed over her shoulder.

He watched her go, watched the sway of her hips and pushed away the longing to have her against the shower wall, hot water pelting her skin. Was she right? Was this curse his own fault? A potion meant to make him pure of heart had instead filled him with the wickedest of possibilities.

But then, perhaps, she was truly his heart’s desire.

_Le Désir de Coeur._

He tossed away the blanket, and with it his few remaining qualms about danger and attraction, and followed her into the bathroom. Nick would be out all night, after all, and the temptation of her shadow through fogged glass was too much for his wicked heart.


End file.
